


Just Let Go.

by CaveCarson (TinySparks), VictorAndVictoria



Series: To Love A Mortal Man. [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Did I mention the lack of plot?, Loki only whines for his mechanic, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, So what else is new?, Tony loves the Jotunn cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinySparks/pseuds/CaveCarson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictorAndVictoria/pseuds/VictorAndVictoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...Let go, Lo. Show me what you /really/ want."</p><p>Quite simply, 5200 words of glorious FrostIron Porn Without Plot! EHEHEHE.<br/>In our 'verse, Loki ('Lo') and Tony definitely have a 'thing' - not that they ever discuss it.</p><p>This started out as a co-authored Twitter RP exchange between @GodOfPuddings & @syntheticheart_, and we more or less took a turn each to write a paragraph or two. </p><p>Oral, 18+, NSFW, m/m... And a smattering of insecure Loki-feels, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Let Go.

@syntheticheart_ tweets: [I never need to worry about flipping my pillow to the cool side.]

@GodOfPuddings replies: [Reason number 361 why Jötunn genes are superb!]

Tony lowers his StarkPhone.

“...Wait, what are the first 360?”

Loki gives a lecherous smile.

“Babe...? Care to share with the class?”

“...I may or may not have mapped your body into 360 distinct ice-tongued lickable portions,” Loki offers, flashing his teeth at Tony, rising up from his end of the couch, to stalk on hands and knees over cushions toward his quarry... Tony simply grins - smug as they come.

“….I can get behind this.”

“And /I/ can get behind...” Loki pauses, clears his throat, and springs up from the couch before he makes any actual contact with the other (original) penthouse resident, taking a step back… “Mmh~… I'll stop… I'm wound up like a coil today, I need to drink herbal tea or something...”

Tony smirks. “Do you have /needs/ today, Lo?”

“…No. Yes. Persistently. I think I may have a genuine medical problem.”

“Uh-huh, genuine medical problem? Guess I can't help ‘til you see a doctor...”

/Oh/~, Tony’s smirking at him devilishly, moving in, wrapping arms around his lover’s waist with a nonchalance of movement that implies that Tony is in the mood to behave exactly like the tortuous little shit he so loves to be around Loki – as if by inviting a God of Mischief into his home Tony had become duty-bound to considerably up the ante with regard to the one weapon that unerringly held sway over the desperately uptight man in his arms – the sure-fire sexual magnetism of one Anthony Edward Stark... Apparently, even gods were fallible; As far as Loki could tell, Stark’s new life goal was to torment him with an endless barrage of teasing. It was unbearable – horrendous - and utterly /intoxicating/.

“…Ohh~, pleasedon'tdothistome, Tony. Hnn~?...”

Tony simply snickers. “I am an ass, but not that much of an ass,” – he smacks Loki’s rear lightly – “Besides, how do I say no to /that/?”

...A desperately inelegant whine escapes from Loki’s throat.

“I have half a mind to push you against this wall...” Tony murmurs, leaning in, with the gentlest grazing of his mouth over Loki’s neck.

“Ah.. Ahn~.. Hn..?” Norns… Loki all but melts, trapped between the pleasure of such gentle touch, and the desire to be handled... not so gently at all. Ahem. Tony gifts just the gentlest press of teeth, before pulling away.

“…I like rendering you speechless.”

Loki, however, crumples somewhat. “You like making me /beg/. Don't... Hn~.... Don't deny it, Stark.”

“…It's true, I do - but that implies that I can have self control, and right now I don't...” Tony’s suddenly husking his words - bordering on a growl - backing the other man into the nearest wall.

“Oh- Oh? Are you quite sure?” Loki queries, keeping his tone as level as he can manage, given the circumstances. “I'd hate to think you didn't really… want..?”

“…I meant I don't /have/ self control, love.” Tony nips at that ivory column of neck, pressing the god firmly against convenient solidity. “Don't you /dare/ think I meant anything else. I want you in the worst way, so much so that I can feel my heart skip beats.”

“Mm.. /Tony/, I know…” Lo all but groans, concentrating on not losing his head because of /words/, and /hands/, and— “I /know/…” Those hands wander, stroking skin, slipping under Loki’s shirt to caress and tease.

“…You'd better know, else I'd have to make you believe.”

“I do, I do, or… I don't? I...” /Nobody/ else gets him flustered, /nobody/; This is ridiculous, has never stopped being so, likely never will. Muscles tense reflexively; Definitely not trembling, not a bit. “Where did .. All of the... Air... Go?”

“Never left, you just decided to hold your breath,” Tony nuzzles, mouth trailing nonchalantly over the other’s throat. “…Should breathe more.”

Lo gives a clearly ragged sigh, over this - this! Nothing at all! Perspiring palms pressed flat to the wall, not even daring to touch, just feeling /other/, and /warm/, and sweet, delicious, teasing, kindly cruel /Tony/; He keens softly…

“Fuck,” Tony breathes, “you know what that does to me…” And meets Loki’s mouth with his own, his kisses all fiercely demanding and consuming - as if Lo's the air he breathes… Amidst a fervent collaboration of pressing lips, scraping teeth, desperate tongue, Lo keeps his hands plastered to the wall; Who knows why, Lo isn't at all sure but he's doing it, just--…

“Ahn~, nnh~”, Letting gasping little sounds escape, letting Tony be possessive of him.. Just feels.. Incredible; In fact, just him /cursing/ makes Lo groan into their kiss.

“How fond of these clothes are you?” Tony grips tight, trying to resist from stripping them both here and now.

“I have other clothes, lots of... Mhn--,” Lo is struggling, struggling, /struggling/ to keep his hands pressed 'gainst the wall, the act having become some unprovoked challenge to himself, in lieu of his collectedness, which has long since fled.

“Good, since these aren't going to last...” And instantly buttons are popping free, Lo’s shirt falling away and exposing so much skin to Tony’s lips.

“Ffff--Wh--?” The fabric of Loki’s damaged shirt pools lightly around his wrists, as it is pushed back from pale shoulders, the result of steadfastly refusing to let those perspiring palms part from the wall to which he is so thrillingly pressed and then Tony – {oh, fuck, /Tony/} - he's doing that thing where his face isn't really giving much away, but there's this almost undetectable shadow of something hungered about the eyes, and Lo only knows it because he's seen it before, and damn it all if he isn't madly in love with this man pinning him up against a wall, making him feel like sex itself were some entirely new experience, like... Like /everything/ was new to him. He comes close to gasping something ridiculous out, like "I love you!", but doesn't, he /doesn't/; He keeps his words to himself, simply groaning as air hits his freshly exposed torso...

Tony's eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and want, and /mine/. Leaning down, he traces that gorgeous porcelain skin with the barest press of lips, tongue and hands before teasing a delicate peak with his tongue, determined to tease Lo until he's a trembling mass leaning against the wall and crying out Tony's name as a prayer to release and relief…

{Oh - please - /yes/!}, this is exactly what Lo wants; Tony's trailing tongue and firm hands that feel like fire to his skin, working over his body, moving downwards, and wow, is it embarrassing how plainly Lo just /wants/-- And his attempt at breathing catches in his throat, giving way to gasping surprise, shocked that something so simple, such a small action as a tongue-tip flickering over a tiny blushing peak can elicit such a response in him - that a shiver might shoot up his spine, forcing him to clutch at the flatness of nothing, fingernails scraping so hard as to collect paint...

Tony smirks at the little responses that Lo's body gives even if he doesn't seem to reply; the delicate shivers and softest almost inaudible gasps are like another language Tony has become fluent in, determined to pen sonnets on his skin like a tattoo. Each minute response only spurs him on, flicking softly with his tongue as he trails down to kneel before him.

As Tony works his way down, communicating solely through the medium of tongue, tracing abstract patterns over Lo's flesh in fiery bursts that greatly test his capacity to not arch his back, not buck his hips and not squirm like a desperate adolescent... That send erratic little electrical pulses through his chest which contains a heart that will /not/ stop thumping madly no matter how much he tells it to - that make unfurling nerves scream across his stomach and beyond... Lo is doomed. Doomed. He knows this, he knows it the moment that Tony's knees meet the floor - when every minute hair on his body stands up straight due to the sudden realisation that right now, right at this very moment, Lo is not remotely in control; that if Tony were to ask anything of him, literally anything of him...

This is what being mesmerised feels like. This is what addiction feels like, this man, /his/ man... /His/ man? {Oh, sweet mother of fuck...} This is what it feels like, desperately yearning for that next hit; and it's just getting more and more intense with every passing day - Lo wasn't even joking when he said he thought he had a genuine medical problem - So, it's somewhat of a surprise when Tony basically kneels in front of him, licking at him like never-ending candy, and all Lo can manage to say for fear that if he speak this man's name, he will somehow become eternally enslaved to him - that all he can manage to say as he scratches holes in the wall with far-too-tense hands is: "...Ton-?"

Tony's eyes roll up to meet Loki's as he ghosts past his navel with his mouth, almost caught by surprise by something akin to actual words leaving his mouth. Sliding hands up his legs to caress and pull at the fabric still covering them before grasping onto his hips, thumbs teasing the skin just above the waistband of his trousers. "…Yeah, babe?"

...{‘Yeah, babe?’} Lo repeats in his mind… {/'Yeah, babe'/?!} Lo's experiencing something close to a complete nervous breakdown as a result of this-- This /man/'s general existence! Well, more accurately put, this man's existence in /Lo/'s existence, and Lo may be doing a rather grand job of concealing the majority of that truth, coming off as just gagging for it, or whatever more tasteful phrase may be substituted, though Lo doesn't have any other phrase in his mind, in fact his internal dialogue is swiftly reducing to four letter words - that's by the by - /this man/, here, creator of a godshaped nervous wreck, a bundle of sexual /need/ and /desperation/ and /emotions/ - {gah, those fucking emotions!} - and wanting to just give himself over completely in every possible way just to keep those eyes on him for another breathless moment, .../this/ man, all he has to say is "yeah babe?"..?!

Apoplexy manifests in an unintelligible uttering in a language that is most definitely not local, but quite unmistakably colourful, right about the same moment that plaster starts to come away from the wall in chunks.

Tony pauses once he hears some strange language begin, softly caressing in an attempt to reassure. This was not what he had planned on eliciting from Lo.

"Sweets? …I can stop if you need me to." Tony studies him carefully, trying to decipher whether he's upset the god, or if he's just broken him in some other way…

{For fuck's sake…} There really is no better way of describing it - Tony is now /looking right at him/ and Loki bites the tip of his tongue to stop the words that will probably result in someone, somewhere, dropping dead or spontaneously combusting or somesuch - he bites it 'til an overly familiar metallic taste dances on his tastebuds which brings him back into the room, all of this occurring in mere seconds, and he scrunches his eyes closed, dark lashes battening down the hatches, shielding him from the sight right afore him that is /actually making him lose control/. He stops ruining the wall, returning to splaying out those slender digits over the cool, marred surface, and when he opens his eyes again the oh-so-changeable-irises shine in a curious blue-green gold-flecked hue, and... Nope, no - he thought he had it, he was going to be all commanding and just /demand/ to put out of this eternal (wonderful) misery, but no - he sets eyes on /this man/ again and it's all out the window, and his lips part and he just /looks/ at him, just drinks him in, the very image of him, and there's no hint of malice in his eyes, only /want/ and /need/ and /you are driving me quite literally insane/, and /I love you so, so much, but I just can't say it right now incase I wake up/... Oh, all of that, and also quite simply, yes, Loki is utterly broken. Yes. No denying it. He just... Pants desperately, like a taunted beast.

"…Blink once for yes, twice for no. Do you want this to happen? I don't do dubious consent, and frankly, you're a little worse for wear right now. So…" Tony sits back and waits for confirmation, still teasing but less so, concern overriding lust.

Lo should probably take note of that, the whole expressing concern thing - that's the kind of thing you bear in mind and repay tenfold, but.. But.. Tony has it /so/ wrong, Lo is just falling apart with need, shaken by the realisation of it, and so without even realising it, trembling, /visibly/ shaking like a fucking delicate little leaf, he chokes out Tony's name, accompanied by "want," "need," and "begging you," and... And unwittingly gives Tony exactly what he had set out to achieve... A trembling mess, begging, praying for relief, for release... Though the words /could/ be a little louder.

A sigh of relief escapes Tony’s lips as a smile tugs them into a familiar curve before he sets out to remove Lo's remaining clothing, kissing the newly exposed skin softly, touching everywhere but where Lo so desperately wants him. Tony reaches up and gently begins stroking him, watching, absolutely mesmerized by just how /beautiful/ Lo was; the embodiment of perfection. He concedes and licks a long line on tender flesh, still teasing despite his own wanton lust and desire to consume Lo whole, here and now, until he's crying out with fingers tangled so perfectly in his hair and Tony can't breathe…

{Oh, /oh/. There it is, the.. Ahn~..} The moment where the fabric barrier disappears, when kisses and touch decorate his skin so prettily, and Loki knew Tony was an artist - a /real/ artist, someone who creates, who has vision - yet now all he can see is himself as raw material, begging to be moulded, worked into something of Tony's artistic vision; Something of touch, /touchtouchtouchohhhh~/-- He tips his head back to the wall as Tony touches him, stroking gently, and he cannot decide if this is relief, or just making it worse, and then before he can take a breath, what little oxygen was left is crushed from his lungs at the first teasing, slow contact from Tony's tongue upon his most aching, desperate self, and then it happens, he's so convinced he's going to /burn up/ like never before that he forcibly cools himself, chill radiating out from his core; and it's over in a millisecond, that flash of cold, and his eyes prise open startled, startled by his own reaction but most importantly looking down, perplexed, quite convinced he's going to explode into flames regardless of whatever tactics he employs. A shiver follows the ice-dance through his form, not of cold, but of... "I love.. Please, I.. /Need/."

Tony grins and winks up at him, teasing him for another thirty seconds before taking in as much of him as he can, repressing the urge to gag and holding onto Lo's hips, trying to keep him upright. There's suction, and /wet/ and /heat/ and his throat is tightening around him, trying to figure out what is shoved so far down…

{Fff..! Oh, ah, /breathe/, Lo. Get a hold of yourself, it's not like he's never touched you before, just /remember to breathe/..} He's fine, he's /fine/-he's not going to spontaneously combust, {ohfuckohfuckohfuck…} Tony's got firm fingers wrapped around him, he's going to explode; Tony's tongue is lapping flames over him, he's going to have a heart attack; Tony's /tasting/ him, lips ghosting over his tip, /knowing/ what it's doing to him, and he's going to pass out from oxygen deprivation; Tony's grinning at him, he's fucking /grinning/ at him! He's.. He's /Tony/. Of course he's grinning at him. This sight, this-- and Tony's eyes, dark, unwavering, simultaneously sweet-goading-confrontational, /fuck/ - he loves - he can't breathe - flakes of paint and plaster littering Tony's hair as vibrating fingers rake, a thirty-second eternity of teasing, - did he just wink at him? Did--...

That's when he loses the plot, {/fuck/..! Tony, he-- Lips, he's-- Devouring; Heat, tongue, fff--!} Lo cries out in surprise - muscle pulsing around him, so fucking /tight/, burning, ahh... Mind faltering.. Fuck, he, - this man, he's his, he really is /his/, this is.. This is a really strange moment to realise that, right? All following thoughts fail to extend beyond four letter words, e.g. 'fuck', 'heat', 'ache', 'need', 'take'.. No; No chance of any eloquence here. Not remotely, not a shred; He's done with words; Moaning, quaking, feeling Tony's hands on his hips and burning-tight-wet-hot-sweet, and... "Fff--..Ngh! ../Tony/, fucking incred--Ahh!"...

Tony pulls off, just enough to breathe without his eyes watering, groaning at the sight in front of him. 'Fuck, Lo, just… /Mine/." And there's heat in his voice, that possessive tone, and all Tony wants to do is make his hips buck and fingers reach for some semblance of leverage. He's aiming to show Lo just how much he wants him, needs him, nay, /loves/ him and he could quite literally buy him a small country, but Tony would rather make him /feel/ treasured and worshipped.

{Oh, fuck, damnit, nonono don't stop-!} ..Tony pulls off, and Lo wears this expression that can only be described as manic desperation, his eyes are so, so wide, lust-burdened pupils close to eclipsing unnaturally bright irises, they're looking /right at each other/ - and he can see Tony's lips moving, but they're not moving /around/ him, and damn it all if the urge to burst into flames taking everyone and everything with him isn't a distinct possibility - but then he catches that one word, "Mine". {‘Mine’} - he repeats it in his head. “Mine” - he mouths it silently. "Yours," he says quietly, low, serious, running the pad of his thumb down over Tony's temple, over his cheek, digits sliding to encircle the nape of his neck; Curling fingers of his other hand into a firm grasp of locks; And he repeats it - "/Yours/," - as an invitation which implies so much more than this.

Tony's eyes flutter shut, and he resumes sucking upon Lo as if he's his favourite piece of candy--really, he is. The added pressure and tension from /hair/ and /throat/ just add more fuel to this already blazing inferno, and he moans around him melting at the "Yours." He doesn't want to let go, wouldn't know how to let go of Lo if he tried, and that /scares/ him more than any portal, any fall, any cave ever could…

…It's as if two entirely different events are occurring simultaneously that /should/ be so disparate in nature as to be utterly incompatible, but somehow... Okay. First things first; Tony. Is. Incredible. That's not up for debate - and Lo's body is, of course, still screaming with the fevered urgency of need, fingers clutching possessively at the man down on his knees before him, truly worshipping him in the very best sense of the word. And yet, an undercurrent of something very different, and much more complex is quite clearly present; He's still reeling from the whole yours/mine thing which of course he already knows, but this is /different/. Things have been getting incrementally tenser as weeks – (Months? Wow…) - have passed, and because they never talk about these things, such fragmented confessions hold great weight. A pair of emotional cripples using sex to communicate their true feelings for each other? There's a line here about sexual healing, somewhere.

Lo has to remind himself of how strong he can be when he's worked up - consciously trying not to either tear Tony's hair out or accidentally throttle him - maybe he should just let go? He releases his grasp, hands hovering about the engineer’s face like a pallid halo stratified into ten trembling sections.

Tony gazes up at Lo from his position down on the floor, proud of himself for reducing such a graceful being to syllables and murmured words, squeezing a hand around him and stroking just to tease. "Think we'd be better off on a bed, sweets. I don't mind /blowing/ your mind away, but I'm inclined to be selfish today…" He emphasizes the words 'bed' and 'blowing', with subtle licks to Loki’s tip, knowing that he's about to cause the god to spontaneously combust…

{Is he.. Is he seriously inferring that his knees are sore? Is he seriously inferring this /whilst continuing to tease me/? Is…} Lo is a hair's breadth away from shoving Stark down and fucking him quite thoroughly indeed right here on the floor, caught by the wrists, struggling ineffectually, crying out his name, begging for his own release, no more messing, no more /waiting/, biting down on his fucking shoulder until he can taste... {Hnn~.} He grasps Tony's locks once again, yanking his tormenting damnable hateful wonderful blessed mouth /away/ from his desperately aching cock - he could scream! why isn't he screaming?! - he pulls Tony to his feet, by shirt, by arms, whatever he can get a hold of, physically dragging him bedward, throwing /himself/ down upon it, and staring up at Tony, the very picture of torment as he snaps out the words, "Is this to your satisfaction?! Is it?!" ...Yes; That's the sound of a god on the verge of throwing a fit because he's realising that he will actually concede to this man's wishes ahead of fulfilling his own desire.

Completely. Fucking. Doomed.

And Tony's smirking to himself the whole way there, grinning like a loon--let's be honest, he /is/ a loon--and only smiles more as Lo looses his cool on his half of their bed. When did it become 'their' bed? Or his half? Who knows? All Tony knows is that he can't decide whether he wants to keep driving the god insane with unresolved lust until he's pinned down and claimed or if he'd rather give in to his own desires now, and straddle those beautifully slender hips…"Much better. You look so nice against red. Makes me want to just…" He never finishes that sentence, resolving to torment his lover further with soft kisses on his neck, reaching between them to stroke /so/ slowly as he nibbles on that one spot, trying not to devour him whole.

…Lo should never have told Tony about the neck thing; He knows that now. He should never have mentioned it. He knows that for a fact, because this is it, this is the Achilles' Heel of his lovemaking - and the way Tony works so beautifully on that pulsing little patch of skin is apt to make Lo either shed tears of frustration, or beg, actually /beg/, or go the other way completely and make Tony beg... Oh, that would be exquisite, for Lo's lovemaking can be quite… /Different/ to Tony's; He thinks that aches and bruises make an excellent souvenir, that bitemarks and scratches should be displayed with utmost pride... These racing thoughts are interrupted by Tony's grip and-- Yes, Lo's bucking his hips, he doesn't know /what/ he wants, if he wants lips or hands or deep, deep, tight, urgent /heat/; to be submissive, dominant; dancing between the two-- He just wants Tony, that's his only stipulation, which he conveys with the exceedingly eloquent, "...Nnnnnfffuck, ahhh~!"

Smirking, Tony releases that favoured patch of skin, licking a quick line down to his chest and taunting him further with the prospect of relief, release. Instead, he opts to pepper every inch of alabaster skin with kisses--all but where Lo so desperately wants to be touched, kissed, caressed, and consumed. Control is something he has far too much of, in Tony's opinion at least, and now seems as good of time as any to break him of it.

"Let go, Lo. Show me what you /really/ want."

Two words: /Let go/; Sounds simple enough - but Lo spends every waking moment concentrating on doing the very opposite - on keeping it together, quelling impulses, denying himself of deep-seated insistences... Not spectacularly crashing and burning. Again.

He tells himself that this is different. He can trust Tony, he's certain of that (terrifying, utterly terrifying). Tony seems to be under the impression that he can trust Lo. He's not going to fall apart and become some horrific example of a being if he does as Tony asks him. He just needs to stop panicking; Needs to accept that this is unconditional; It's about letting go, and being safe enough to do so without fear of judgement. Without fear of rejection.

So when he does show Tony what he really wants - a fragment of unburdened truth - his body is wracked with a tumultuous mix of surging emotion and a fluidity of intuitive movement that makes him feel incredibly powerful: Fear, frustration, confession; Confidence long untapped; Contradictions rolling over him in waves as he wraps legs around Tony, bucking his hips and crying out unashamedly as he delivers tortuously delicate kisses to his intensity-taught abdomen; Those shaking hands tear away from bedsheets to thrust into Tony's hair, guiding him, guiding his mouth, lips, tongue - unable to speak words that any human might fathom - guiding him down so that beautiful, blood-flushed lips brush over his tip; Heat-breath-trembling-desire, gasping at the briefest contact... Unfurling to reveal an essence of himself, a demonstration of desire, of simple /honesty/, and all beneath this most extraordinary of creatures…

That instant where Lo decided to trust Tony enough to /let go/ will forever be burned into his mind, Tony decides, as he's guided down by pulling hands and hair to suck upon tender flesh. He ends this endless dance of teasing, taunting, and the slightest of caresses, stroking, licking, squeezing… throwing himself into his work, {really shouldn't be called work,} he thinks to himself, {I enjoy this way too damned much for it to be work}-- until Lo's back will bend and shudder as he swallows and strokes soft skin, waiting for their breathing to return to normal…

Nnh~… At some point amidst arching, bucking, hands that tug and guide, between gasping issuances - /not/ biting his tongue for once, /not/ trying to suppress any sign of actually being alive - Lo manages to form some actual syllables, which would sound suspiciously like something really very serious - if they were in a language the other could remotely fathom. An irritating habit, quite likely, but then he understands practically nothing of 90% of the things he wheedles from Tony about his work, so... Lo's cheeks are /so/ flushed, he doesn't even work to cool himself, he just doesn't care what he looks like, /just let go/, he... He keeps whispering in that curious tongue as he twists soft brunet hair around his fingers, tugging, carding through those locks repeatedly, slower... Slowing to a caress, gentle... Loving, even.

The suction of Tony’s mouth is relentless, plying every moan and desperate murmur from the god’s throat as the engineer’s closes around his length again...That delicious burn is always a double edged sword of pleasure and pain as his body desperately begs for air while he denies himself it, and even when he pulls back, that ache remains, as he blinks back tears. Months of practice have given Tony insight into Lo’s signs, and the engineer notes that he’s close before pushing forward again as his hand cups and rolls delicate weights… His other hand remains in an iron grip on the lithe frame to control how far he’s pushed, and simply /waits/ as the wet hot vacuum of his throat does its work.

“Anthony—Tony—!” …So - hn~! - so damn methodical, the way he works Lo over, something akin to the concentration he might show when work-rapt – so thorough, so /focused/… As if he lives for fulfillment of his task, even if that currently happens to involve giving a certain deity the most mind-blowing head in literal millennia; Tony Stark isn’t exactly known for dealing in half measures now, is he? And yes, he certainly does bring his scientist’s mind to the task of unraveling the god in his bed, time, and time again: Each time he brings Loki apart, that knowledge accumulates, coveting every wrecked syllable as he notes exactly what patch of flesh is so thoroughly lavished as to elicit these most obscenely delicious of otherworldly moans…

Every time with Stark is a seduction wrought anew. Tony Stark is - simply put - the most attentive lover a demigod could wish for.

…And when Lo is finally nearly at the point of his undoing, past all rational thought - “Staaaarrrk~… Nnh..! Yesss, oh yesss, /yesss/, don’t stop, /more/, all of me, /take me/, ahngh~!” …/Sooo/ close to blissful oblivion, Tony – still with an iron grip capturing one bucking hip in a bruise-worthy grasp – sucking Loki down with no restraint to speak of, humming an obscene enthusiasm around his length, cheeks two exquisite tan designer-stubble-dashed hollows, he slips his other hand down, knuckles nudging against the curve of his ass – “Close, Tony, I’m so closssse~!” – and all it takes is for one probing index finger to trace a brief, delicate circle around his entrance, Tony thrusting in, twisting just a mere inch of fingertip in and out of the tight, needy pucker of his lover’s ass… Oh-so-sensitive nerves wracked with fireworks of pleasure – and issuing a wrecked approximation of his mortal’s name, “nnh, ahh~! /Tony/!”, Loki’s orgasm is ripped from him in a sudden white hot blindness, a startling coming undone that flashes over and through him, waves of want, and receipt – Tony taking everything, /everything/ that Lo has to offer unto him as he comes, swallowing him down with an unparalleled reverence, every single drop treasured… “Tony… Toh-nee~…” Waves of need, and worship, his body completely at the mercy of this mere mortal’s ministrations, his ancient mind completely scrambled…

Tony Stark makes him feel like he’s been scattered into a million, billion pieces, but he will never say it aloud. The genius knows he’s got that power over him, he doesn’t need to hear it in that way: Red-stained cheeks, hair slick and scattered, and eyes dark, hazy with a heady intoxication… Lo’s entirely fucked-out expression tells the story well enough.

Tony’s face appears in Lo’s field of vision, glowing with pride; It’s that same look that he gets when he’s solved some engineering problem he’s been coaxing to fruition for an age… Loki’s is an equation that rewrites itself with increasing complexity with each completion; Demanding, always; But so, so grateful...

“Nnh~. Not so bad,” Lo murrs, catching a fistful of perspiration damp brown silk between his fingers, drawing the man’s brow to his lips for an appreciative brush of a kiss. “Just what the doctor ordered…” he adds, trademark barely-suppressed smirk starting to curve, and in spite of his boneless state, musters up the power to rise, flipping their positions, pressing Stark down into sheets sullied and greatly askew.

“…On your back for me, sweetheart: So that I might show you how it’s /really/ done…”

**Author's Note:**

> ...For anyone who would like to follow our FrostIron pairing, we are known as @GodOfPuddings and @syntheticheart_ on twitter, and we update regularly.
> 
> Thanks for reading, darlings! 
> 
> ~ Iron_Mun


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